


Reason in madness

by kid_n_the_hall



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: But it's friday and there will be wine tonight, F/M, I blame working the night shift and watching MFMM in the slow hours, Plot? Nope, Why am I posting this?, and fluff?, did I try to write smut?!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-13
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-08-22 07:19:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8277452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kid_n_the_hall/pseuds/kid_n_the_hall
Summary: I don’t really know what it is, snippets of an evening? A heap of sentimental drabble? There's no plot, probably a lot of grammatical faux pas, and uh, don't hate me. :)*slowly backing away*





	

 She’s been waiting (she doesn’t wait) for him to be ready. For him to see that she is ready.

She’s crossed the line she drew years ago, she stayed on her safe side of it for a decade.  And after this last year she’s moved so far over the line she can hardly see it anymore. Into the unknown. It’s foggy and crystal clear. Damn. And if she’ll have to wait any longer.  She. Will. Combust

 

*

 

It’s like any other night. He pulls up in his motor car outside Wardlow.  Turns off the engine. Taps on the steering wheel. Fiddles with the key. Glances towards the large windows where warm light seeps through thick, heavy curtains.

Braces himself for impact.

 

It’s like any other night, any other nightcap.  Except that it is decisively not. There is not any protest left in him, not in any of the little conservative corners that might be found in his wound up brain. The _but if_ ’s are not strong enough, the _what if_ ’s not loud enough.  
  
He breaths deeply, slides out, slams the door shut. Tries to infuse some of the physical strength of his arm into his mind. His body seems to know it’s time, know what it needs, it takes control and he lets it. He walks towards the gate. Up the stairs.  Gives his eyebrows swift, self soothing strokes with his forefingers. Breaths. Cautiously knocks on the tainted glass.

And braces himself.

Impact.

 

*

 

There have been some kissing, some heavy hands on waists and necks and lapels on earlier nights. But soon after it has commenced he’s made his excuse and fled. Retired! He’s retired at a sensible hour before anyone got burned.

 

She smiles suggestively. He swallows hard and blinks.

 

A line from a confiscated book flashes before his closed eyes. He can feel himself blush. And then he recollects how he used to consider himself a moth, Phryne a flame. How he would be scorched dared he venture to close. Now he dares to believe they together are the flame, they create the flame. He looks down at her, holds her gaze and sees something ignite. Her lips are on his before he can straighten his tie.  
  


*

 

Every nerve ending firing. Her whole body a complete chaos of sensations, her skin electric, her insides sparkling as if her blood is now champagne.

Her fingers are numb and unable to process the orders her brain is throwing in their direction. Her fingers like clumsy, adolescent boys struggling to master the task of unfastening his belt.

”Sod it!!”

He chuckles.

She abandons the belt, aiming to unbutton his shirt instead. With a brain in turmoil, little slippery, ivory buttons seems a wiser choice, easier to undo. Perhaps not the most logical conclusion, but where's the logic at all now? No, just lust. Time stopping, mind consuming lust, evaporating from every fiber in their bodies. Lust and need, need to feel his skin under her fingertips. When they will feel skin answer to their touch they will be able and nimble again.

 

Suddenly a rough but gentle hand guides itself from her waist to her back, up between her scapulas. 

The maneuver matched by increased intensity in the kissing engaging their mouths.

She's naked? She's naked. This clever man has relieved her of the last remaining garments which are now resting at her feet. With a shiver she takes small steps out of the tangled heap of silk around her ankles, not breaking contact with his mouth or the patches of skin she's actually managed to expose.

 

Oh, yes, definitely naked, a nipple reacts to another marvellous, rough hand. Wavelets of desire rushing to her core.

 

No more patience. Need. More. Skin. Another curse and little enervating ivory buttons now scatter the floor. He breaks the kiss and dark, slightly lost eyes meet her defiant gaze.

She presses her torso flat against his and sucks in his gasp in a kiss.  

And the kissing! Oh, these eager, enthusiastic kisses, somehow laced with both familiarity and spine tingling novelty.

 

Desire prickling down her back, curling inwards, twirling deep in her belly, gathering in a heavy, heated weight between her thighs. They pull back slightly, locking eyes.

 

”Bed”. A question in his eyes, statement by his voice.

 

She's resolutely pushing him backwards as they walk, kiss, touch.

 

”Phryne...” She interrupts him with another kiss and a final push that have him falling onto her bed. He smiles and turns up his eyes at her with that look of bemused adoration. That look have her turn giddy. She bites her lip hard to match the pull in the pit of her stomach and pounces. Throws herself at the disheveled Inspector reclining in her (her!) bed. Shuffles up to straddle him and grinds down to emphasize her yearning. He growls.

 

”You're a...oh! A force of nature!”

”I've been known to tear up the odd tree and sweep unsuspecting men off their feet.” She nips along his noble jaw to nibble at his earlobe and releases at soft, warm breath.

”Huhm, hrm, well, I've been struggling to keep my footing since that train to Ballarat.” He’s holding on for dear life now.

”How I wish you'd let yourself fall this far sooner, Inspector.” she mumbles into the hollow above his clavicle. He's ticklish there. A small vibration moves through his body and his fingers digs a little deeper in the flesh at her hips.

She pauses, raises her head to look at him, meet his eyes.

She gets lost. And suddenly, with a move that surprises and arouses her, he grabs her behind a knee and a shoulder and flips her over. He looks very proud to have her pinned to the bed.

”Allow me to take care of the sweeping just now” and with that they're back in the midst of the fever pitch trifecta of kissing, touching, feeling.

 

*

 

Brows furrowing with focus. He's on the verge of fainting from the sheer intensity of the moment.

 

All his senses are fully occupied with Phryne. Her scent, her glorious skin, the taste of her innermost flesh and fluids on his tongue. The warm, wet, velvety texture enveloping his fingers.

The sound of her. Little _oh_ 's of surprise and anticipation.  Growly, breathless _fuck_ 's. Slow _Jack_ 's, clipped short at the end. He revels in her cunt.

”Jack!”

Whatever she says next is muffled by her thighs pressing tightly to his ears.

A second of stillness, and then. A ripple. A wave. A tsunami.

 

*

 

When she comes to she feels his hair slipping through her fingers as he pushes himself up and off the bed.

 

She gazes up at him and he's the most gorgeous any man has ever been. Ruffled hair, flushed cheeks, wet lips in a pleased smirk. Impossibly blue eyes that's devouring her. Strong shoulders and arms. Capable hands. So very, very capable hands. Beautifully defined torso, all muscles and taut skin, a trail of golden hair disappearing into his trousers. Trousers slung low on his hips, belt hanging loose. He cuts quite the figure, lean and tall, her pillar.

 

The pronounced bulge under the grey wool, telling of a rather magnificent erection. She scoots to the end of the bed and grabs him by the waistband. Pulls him in between her thighs. Her fingers do a slow little dance on their way to his fly. Upon arrival they undo buttons, far from as fast as she could, just to marvel at the effect grazing knuckles has on his breathing.

 

She throws a quick glance at his eyes, lets her hands slide underneath his smalls. She holds still, savouring the feel of his arse against her palms. She can feel the tiny, soft hairs standing on edge. He closes his eyes and breaths out with a shiver. She glides her palms to his hips and down, down his thighs, his calves, freeing him. He's naked.

Yes.

Magnificent indeed.

 

*

 

”He kissed the first of many double kisses...” Phryne mumbles as he nuzzles and kisses his way up her feet, shins, knees, thighs. He exhales in a muted laugh against her navel.

“Paraphrasing Alexas are we, Miss Fisher?” he nudges a lush breast with his nose, then takes a nipple between his teeth. She hisses.

“Oh happy horse, to bear the weight of Antony” she whispers as she tugs Jack further upward.

“Please Jack”

“You’re begging?”

“Yes”

“The very instant that I saw you did my heart fly at your service” he comes to rest on top of her, can barely contain himself any longer. She shifts to grant him access.

“May I” he asks against her forehead as his cock is now finally aligned with her slick folds.

“Please”

All air is evacuated from his lungs as he enters her. As if she stole it with her sharp inhale.

 

 

*

 

She’s struggling to catch her breath, dragging herself back to the surface. Back from the abyss. Grasps his face, sharp jawbone in her hands. Drowning in his eyes she finds the same overwhelmed look mirrored there. They breathe together in an erratic rhythm of hot gusts. He draws a line with a finger down her neck, licks a trail in the little beads of sweat along her throat. She anchors herself to his shoulders, winds her legs around his, keeping him firmly in place, keeping him inside her still.

“I…” he begins, “we…” coherent thoughts and sentence construction are yet to function.

“I know, darling” she whispers and he offers a crooked smile in response.

 

*

 

Her hipbone is lodged safely in his palm, his thumb draw slow figures on her belly, his forefinger nestled in the crease between thigh and lovely damp curls. His face burrowed in her neck. The soft curves of her back, bottom and legs fits so wonderfully against him. He feels every bit a sentimental fool, and happy to be just that. This evening has been a sequence of new highs stacked in a completely sublime heap of contentment.

 

He started to fall early on, faster with each newly discovered vault in her constitution. He convinced himself it wasn’t so. He crashed. Got up. And fell again, madly.

 

Still falling madly, through vaults after vaults endlessly.

 

**Author's Note:**

> The title is Nietzsche; "There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness."
> 
> You’ll probably find the stuff I knicked from the Bard.
> 
> The last line about vaults is borrowed from Tomas Tranströmers poem Romanska bågar/Romanesque Arches. (I wrote “Romerska bågar” at first, which is also very nice, but not a poem but a sort of Swedish chocolate.)
> 
> If you’d like to read it (the poem not the chocolate), here it is, both in Swedish and english, with an audio with Tomas himself:
> 
> http://tuvala.blogspot.se/2011/10/tomas-transtromer-romanesque-arches.html
> 
>  
> 
> (Ok, so I haven't written anything in like six or seven years? And written anything in english, well, that's even more water under the bridge. 
> 
> And suddenly these two lovely idiots and their squad got me all obsessed and I rediscovered fanfiction after being lapsed for like a decade. And I read and read (and I’m in awe over how talented so many of you are, and so productive!), I consumed obscene amounts of MFMM-fics, and was thrilled to realize that it spilled over to my other reading habits (I've hardly been reading anything at all the past five years due to PPD turned into fatigue syndrome blah blah blah).  
> Anyway, I’m forever grateful for that, since it's a big chunk of my personality that I got back. And I thought about how great it was when I wrote too, not exceptionally well, but I enjoyed it.
> 
> So then one day at work this thing fell into my head, and I had to write it down since it refused to stop bugging me. And it sat in a little Phrack folder on our computer for a while. One day my brain started nagging me to post it here, despite me being terrified by the idea. But what the hell. So now I've done that. Stupid pretentious brain. And don’t get me started on titles!?! And how the same text can go from cooperating nicely to being completely offensive and just cheesy crap in minutes.) Gaahh!


End file.
